Cress was starry-eyed, sitting rapt in her seat and taking it all in.
Thorne was not.
"C'mon, Cress," he mumbled. "Who cares? That one in the nightgown's been on stage practically the entire time!"
"Shhh," Cress whispered back, clasping her hands. "Oh- look! The coffee bean dancers! Aren't they sweet?"
"Yeah, yeah." Thorne looked around at the theatre. This dumb ballet had been Cress's idea, not his. This was not his idea of entertainment.
Ah, well. This was Russia, and ballet was a big thing here. Why, Thorne didn't know. But Cress had seen the advertisement on her portscreen- "A ballet! The Nutcracker! At the Bolshoi Theatre! Carswell, we have to go! We can't miss this! Please?"- and just like that, he was doomed to sit in said theater full of people in tuxes and evening gowns (he and Cress included; they had had a good time dressing up together) and sit and sit and sit while candy people and rats and annoying little brothers and girls in nightgowns and weird godfathers pranced around the stage.
Aces, the things he did to keep Cress happy.
Well... hopefully it would be over soon.
The music swelled, his left arm was suddenly seized in a death grip, and Cress's eyes were alight with utter joy.
"Carswell! Look! It's the Sugarplum Fairy!"
Her voice was breathless with excitement. Thorne patted her arm, unsure exactly what else to do. "The Sugarplum Fairy. Wow! That's great."
Cress gave a soft squeal of delight. The sound made Thorne grin, even though for the life of him he didn't see what was so delightful about the fluffy, sparkly pink person spinning across the stage.
Eh. So long as Cress was happy.